You park the car, feeling butterfly wings against your ribcage as your heart whispers promises of what’s to come. Shaking hands shut off the car and pocket the keys, but a few deep breaths help to calm you. Or maybe that calm is just an illusion.

There are so many people. You expected a few, but you hate moments like this being public. This is such an intimate experience for you. You rake your fingers through your hair, feeling it fall back against your scalp. All of your nerve endings are alive. The damp chill in the air smells like spring, even though it’s July, and it fills your lungs.

If you focus, you can block out the chatter. Why is it taking so long? You’re only there for one thing. Nervous anticipation hums across your skin, mingling and caressing in conspiracy with your cotton Tee. Another couple of deep breaths, these not as soothing. The sun is dipping below the mountains, leaving more chill around you.

You shove your hands in your pockets, trying to tell your whispering heart to just shut up. You shouldn’t have come. What if someone recognizes you? Are you okay with people seeing you in this kind of place? Maybe you should leave. Come back when it’s less crowded. But the gnawing in your gut won’t let you. You want this. You need it. Ever inch of you tingles with thoughts of the journey ahead.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the line begins to move. Has it really been four hours? It seemed like less, and at the same time so much more. You shuffle along with the crowd until, wishing you could cage your hammering heart. It’s been so long.

You brush the cool brass of the door handle for support and comfort. The air pressure shifts around you, an electric breeze replacing the subdued scent of pre-rain from outside. It brings something tantalizing with it as it caresses away the sheen of humidity on your arms and cheeks. A new smell. A friendly smell.

You close your eyes and inhale, chest rising and falling as your lungs fill with the scent of ink and paper. It doesn’t sooth your screaming anticipation, but it adds a layer of excitement to it. You’re finally here. You were starting to wonder if it would ever happen.

The crowds carry you through the bookstore, jostling and jarring. You don’t mind. Your mouth pulls into a smile as you approach the large display in the middle aisle, and then walk around it. You don’t have to pluck one of the manhandled copies from a cardboard shelf. You pre-ordered.

You’re barely aware of your own name passing your lips as you speak with the harried woman behind the counter. Merchandise and money exchange hands, and you feel a new weight against your palms. Finally, the next book in the series, and its yours. Your soul screams with delight and it takes all of your control not to plop down in the middle of the bookstore and devour the words right there.

The seven-hundred pages in your hands are magical. They block out the dull roar of the crowd around you, repelling them as you make your way back to the car. The nervous energy from earlier is something much more positive now. It speaks to you in the narrator’s voice. That sexy, sultry sound that envelops you in its world for hours on end when you’re reading those typed words.

You don’t remember climbing in your car, but there you are. Staring at the shiny letters on the cover. You want to slide off the dust-jacket right now. Feel the pages against your fingertips and caress the words with adoring eyes.

But not here. This is too public. Your moment deserves more. Summoning the remainder of your self control, you set the book aside. You start the car and put it in gear, struggling to keep your eyes on the road and not on the sexy story in the passenger seat.

Maybe you could hold it in your lap while you drive. But no, that would be too much temptation. Home is only ten minutes away, and the anticipation will make the actual reading moment that much more sweet. You’ve waited years for this sequel. You can wait just a little longer…

When was the last time you felt this way about a book?